Monday morning I awoke to the sound of my roommate shuffling about the house… only to be presented with a stick of Big Red upon rising from my bedroom. They’re selling it in Australia now, and I couldn’t be more ecstatic. Before now, Hot Tamales were my only cinnamon candy hit. Things have changed.

For years I coveted every precious stick of Big Red cinnamon wonderment imported directly from the US of A… leftover candy brought by friends returned from holidays. Of course, friends and family don’t travel to the US every day, so the enjoyment rate was something like six to eight sticks per decade. I think you can understand, under those conditions, how great it feels to be able to buy it from my local supermarket now. I assure you, it’s great. I can smell the discarded gum from my garbage can… it’s like a wonderful air–freshener scent they just don’t make.

Elsewhere, my giddy blockquoting of James Joyce’s Dubliners chapter Araby was brought on by the fact that I’ve recently started dating possibly the most perfect woman I’ve ever met. Where by “perfect” I mean “not only incredibly attractive” but “talkative, intelligent, and funny” and “I get along with her in ways I had not previously thought possible”. So yeah… I like her.

To be fair, though, I must say that I have a history of falling for women quite quickly and quite dramatically —it’s a side–effect of my intense masculinity, you see— so I’ll keep my trap shut for the time being. More bulletins as events warrant; but quite frankly, isn’t that what this blogging thing is meant to be all about?